Talking It Through
by Evenmoor
Summary: Lestrade returns to the office and finds DI Dimmock at his desk following the events of "The Blind Banker." One-shot.


**Title**: Talking It Through

**Setting**: The morning after the events of "The Blind Banker."

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Sherlock. The characters in this story are the products of Steven Moffat, Stephen Thompson, the BBC, and the formidable Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

**A/N**: I know I'm not the only one out there who wanted to scream at Dimmock for not listening to Sherlock, for all that we're mere observers.

* * *

><p>Detective Inspector Lestrade made his way into the office at New Scotland Yard early that day. He had managed to grab a good night's sleep for the first time in he couldn't remember how long, and for once he felt recharged enough to get a head start on the paperwork that waited for him on his desk.<p>

On his way in, he saw the only one there was Dimmock, a recent promotion to DI, nodding off at his own desk. Taking pity on the younger man, Lestrade set some fresh coffee on in the break room. When it was ready, he poured a cup for each of them. Dimmock looked up with a rather pathetic amount of gratitude as Lestrade handed him the coffee.

"Thank you, sir," he mumbled into the mug. He had dark circles under his eyes as hallmarks of a sleepless night.

"Tough case, Dimmock?" Lestrade asked conversationally.

"You could say that, sir," was the miserable reply. "A case of vandalism turned into three murders and a double kidnapping, all over some stolen jade hairpin I still haven't found yet."

"You were called in on a case of _vandalism_?"

"No, we were called after the first death. We thought it was a suicide at first. Everything pointed to suicide. But _he _was conviced it was murder. The victim was left-handed, after all." Dimmock set his chin on his hand, staring ahead blankly.

When Dimmock didn't elaborate, Lestrade prompted him. "And...?"

"He was shot in the right side of his head."

Lestrade considered this statement for a moment. "Would this case, by any _particular _chance, involve Sherlock?"

Dimmock looked like he had just bitten into a particularly sour lemon. "He found the first body and called us. Actually, he wanted _you_, sir, but I told him you were busy..."

"And then, I suppose, you proceeded to ignore everything he said?" Lestrade sighed and counted to ten in his head. "What did the jade hairpin have to do with it?"

"The first victim had nicked it while doing a spot of smuggling of ancient Chinese artifacts for the Black Lotus Tong. Their general wasn't too thrilled about the theft, so she sent an assassin to recover the item and dispose of the thief. But the assassin didn't know which of two men had stolen the hairpin, so he ended up murdering both of them. The third victim was his own sister, who helped Sherlock crack their secret code." Dimmock explained, taking a long sip of the steaming coffee.

"Okay, that's the three murders. What about the double kidnapping?"

The younger detective inspector's face turned a rather remarkable shade of crimson. "That was a case of mistaken identity, sir. The assassin thought he was grabbing a man he thought knew where the hairpin was. He also snatched the man's date as leverage in order to get him to speak."

This would, Lestrade thought, usually be an effective strategy, if you had the right target to begin with. "How did he manage to kidnap the wrong man?" he asked.

Dimmock shrugged. "I have no idea, to be honest, sir. Whatever the circumstances, it happened. But then Sherlock found them, and somehow the assassin ended up shot with his own arrow."

Lestrade suddenly had a sinking feeling. Closing his eyes, he prayed he was wrong. "Dimmock. Tell me that the Black Lotus Tong didn't kidnap John Watson."

For a few seconds, all Dimmock could do was stare at Lestrade, his mouth sagging ridiculously. That was all the confirmation Lestrade needed. Dimmock finally collected himself enough to respond. "Sherlock did give us the Tong's secret code. I've been here all night working on rounding up suspects..."

"Dimmock," he said with exagerated calm, "This is a right mess you have on your hands. Now, I'm going to give you some advice, and you're going to listen very carefully. Sherlock Holmes can be insufferable, smug, arrogant, all those things... but he's smarter than you and me put together. Next time he shows up on one of your cases, you are going to pay attention to what he says. And, above all, don't let anything, and I mean _anything_, happen to John. Or, God help me, Sherlock will be the least of your worries."

Grabbing his own coffee, Lestrade left Dimmock to ponder those words of advice. As he sat down behind his own desk, his phone beeped.

_Tell Dimmock I know where the hairpin is. He'll have it before noon. -SH_

A few moments later, a second text came through.

_Glad you're back. Dimmock's an idiot. -SH_

Lestrade chuckled quietly to himself. Sherlock had just given him a compliment, whether he realized or not.


End file.
